Seuls Mes Reves
by Citizen Chauvelin
Summary: Series of sick and twisted oneshots from the sick and twisted mind of an author. Read at your own discression.
1. Warning

Murder. Rape. Adultery. Possible incest.

All this and more, I swear it. And welcome to my sick and twisted mind. I think I owe an apology to the Baroness for the stuff that I shall be posting here. I understand that this thing won't get much press, and I think I like it better that way, being that absolutely none of this will be cannon, and most of it will probably be very, very dark and disturbing. So I feel I owe an explanation to the poor souls that happen to stumble across this thing. And here it is. And if you don't want to hear it, either a) leave immediately and read something more pleasant, or b) skip to the next chapter with a chapter exclusive warning and explanation. Tally ho.

I'd like to start by saying that I love the Scarlet Pimpernel and the characters involved with all my heart. Hard to believe, I know, but it's true. And so, as is apt to happen, I get these thoughts and ideas: "What would happen if this happened instead?" "Would ever do to ? Under what conditions?" "I wonder how happened." And such things like those happen to enter my noggin, and usually, things get sick and twisted. And those ideas don't leave me alone until I get them down on paper. And some of these little ditties end up good. And interesting. In the very least, some of them are well written, and some of them may be of some interest for others to read. But probably not.

In any case, this is where I will be posting this stuff. There will be no multi-chapter things here, just one-shots. At the start of each, I will give a brief explanation of how I came up with the idea, the reason why I portrayed the characters as I did if that is necessary, and I'll give a chapter rating and warnings for what to look out for for your convenience so that you may skip over it without having to sit through touchy subjects.

These are really for my own entertainment and for you to possible enjoy and get a piece of my kicks and giggles. A lot of this will be touchy, and the story is getting a blanket rating of M for a reason. So if you are not comfortable, I am giving you plenty of time to turn away and, here's an idea, not read it. And so please, you may comment, you can give me some constructive criticism, but please, don't flame me. If you really have a problem with it, you're more than welcome to note me or e-mail me at so that you may discuss your problems with my fantasy life in a civilized manner and I shall be glad to respond and clarify or explain or apologize, if need be.

That's all. If it floats your boat, get reading. If not, go and read My New Best Friend by La Pamplemousse for some glorious fun.


	2. Prayer: ChauvelinSuzanne

**Prayer**

**Characters: Chauvelin, Suzanne**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Rape**

**A.N: No idea where I came up with this thing. I just thought it was an interesting idea, and for some reason, it seemed like something Chauvelin would do. The rape's not too graphic, but it is brutal, so if you don't like the idea of an innocent being raped, move on.**

Chauvelin lightly tapped his fingers against the wall, impassively watching as his men ruthlessly beat the Marquis de Tourney. The blasted aristocrat may not have kept his promises to the Republic, but the agent was notoriously suburb at making good on his word. It was pitiful, really. He had offered the man a chance to save himself and his family if only he delivered the names and locations of certain aristocratic families that were renowned to harbour traitors to the Republic, making them traitors themselves, but no, the man would not do it. Mind you, he led them along for a while, made them believe that the families could not be found and he was searching frantically for them on the Republic's behalf.

Of course, Chauvelin knew better than to trust the man, and all he had to do was look past the surface to discover notes and constant correspondence between those families and the Marquis, displaying clear evidence that he was helping them into hiding and keeping them safe by leading the revolutionaries away from them. That took gall, being that Chauvelin had sworn to make him and his wife and daughter suffer tremendously before he killed them.

Quietly issuing the order to cease, the soldiers slowly backed off as the agent approached and knelt beside the coughing and bloody man. "You're a fool, you know that, correct?" Chauvelin said quietly, peering coldly at the Marquis as he tried to move. Snarling viciously, he grabbed the man's hair and violently pulled back, forcing the man's head off the ground and earning a feeble cry from the broken aristocrat. "As we speak, my most trusted men are on their way to your estate to arrest your wife and child, and mark my word, when they arrive, I am going to make them endure the same that I am forcing you through. Does it make you sick to know you could have spared them this?"

"Please, Citizen!" the man cried, straining his voice against the pain. "Please, do not harm them! I beg you! I will tell you anything you want!"

"I gave you that chance, you dog," Chauvelin snarled, releasing the man's hair and allowing his head to drop back to the ground. "You have misled my men time and time again, and unlike you, I am a man of my word. You may not speak, but I can assure you, your wife or daughter will. Women are frail. They will break much easier."

"They don't know anything!" the Marquis sobbed, pushing himself off the ground and clinging to Chauvelin's coat. "Please, let me tell you, but do not hurt my wife and child!"

The agent glared at the man in silence, finger tapping against his shoulder as he considered this, and quietly said, "If you feel so compelled to give us what we want, we shall gladly listen to what you have to say. But…" he paused, a malicious smile tugging at his lips as wide, frightened eyes met his gold ones. "But, as you have so proven, you are not reliable, and I have already given you the chance to save them from this, and you did not comply. No, they will suffer."

The man cried in desperation and hopelessness, and Chauvelin kicked him to the ground and ordered his men to rain whatever beatings that they found appropriate upon the man, and the agent returned to his place at the wall in slightly better spirits as his cruel mind ran over all the things that he could do to break the two de Tourney women.

He knew the Marquis was lying when he said that they did not know anything. At the very least, his deplorable wretch of a wife knew where the families were hiding. Such was the nature of that woman, to meddle and gossip and spread whatever malice she could; he had learned that from Marguerite. His former lover was rather good friends with little Suzanne, and the actress would often come home to him and complain about what a terrible woman the Marquise de Tourney was. He did not really know what that was about, but he took Margot's word for it; she had always been rather keen on pointing out this sort of things, bits of information that Chauvelin now used to the best of his advantage.

The door slowly opened, and the agent glared at his young assistant as he poked his head in. "Sir, the soldiers have just returned with the de Tourney family."

Smiling evilly, he nodded at the young boy and pressed himself off the wall and left the room, ordering the soldiers to continue until the man could no longer stand, and to resume once he recovered enough to move again. He quickly strode down the hall and made his way to the office reserved to him within the prison and sat down on the chair at the desk, sighing in irritation. He called for his assistant, and when the boy poked his head in, he snapped, "Call Mercier, Andre. I want to see him."

The boy nodded and Chauvelin leaned back, ran his hand over his eyes and groaned with the prospects of having to deal with two flighty women in a few hours. With a sigh, he picked up some papers and listlessly looked through them, and his thoughts quickly turned toward Marguerite. This sort of work had always been so much easier to bear when he had her to go home to at the end of the day. At least then he had something to look forward to; now, all he had was whatever pleasure he could extract form the pain that he inflicted and the power he held. Which was fine. He did quite like power.

"Chauvelin?" The agent looked quickly up and brightened a bit as the blonde man walked into the room. "Mercier, sit." The man sat tiredly down and Chauvelin leaned over and stared at him intently. "How was it?"

"So help me, if the next arrest is anything like that one, I am going back home to the country, Chauvelin," Mercier said irritated, his head falling on the desk. "That woman is the single most deplorable creature I have ever met. Royal class act bitch, I swear to you."

"That bad?" Chauvelin asked amused, smiling slightly.

"Much worse. I was half inclined to shoot her right then and there. 'What are you plebeians doing in my house?' she asked. 'Get out!' I don't think she understood that she was getting arrested. God, she carried on like a banshee." He looked up at the amused man for a moment. "Nothing from her husband?"

Chauvelin shook his head. "Nothing. We can't trust him anyway. I will get his wife to talk."

Mercier laughed, but a vicious glare from the man shut him up. "Good luck with that, Chauvelin. She is an impossible one."

"Yes…that's what Marguerite said…"

Mercier looked over the suddenly desolate face of the agent and smiled softly. "You still love her, friend."

Chauvelin instantly dropped all pretence of any sort of hurt and coldly glared at the man. "You forget your place, soldier." The man shifted uncomfortably, and the agent quietly resumed looking over the papers. "Go fetch the Marquise and bring her to me, Mercier." The soldier saluted and left Chauvelin alone again, the agent breathing deeply and placing the papers back on the table. Stupid man. He didn't love her. He didn't love anybody. He didn't need anybody. Especially not her…

Marguerite was a traitor, nothing more than that. It was natural that he should dwell upon her, just as he thought back to the people that still needed to be brought to justice. She was just as guilty as them, perhaps even more so. She had not just betrayed the Republic, she had abandoned France, had abandoned him…the only aspect in which he wanted her was so that he could bring her to justice, for she was just as guilty as those damned aristos.

The door lightly creaked open and Chauvelin's eyes shot up and narrowed at the sight of the haughty Marquise entering his office, flanked by two guards. Chauvelin stood and, bowing mockingly to the woman, offered her the chair. "Will you sit, Madame?" Glaring defiantly at the man, the woman sat down, hands folded in her lap. "Leave us, but stand ready for my call," Chauvelin ordered to the soldiers and the two men exited, and, smiling maliciously, Chauvelin paced predator-like before the woman. "Your husband failed to give me what I wanted, so perhaps you will, hmm?"

The woman sat, said nothing and stared forward, looking at nothing, which only irritated Chauvelin. "I shall make you a deal, woman. You tell me what I want, and I will let you and your daughter go."

"And what of my husband?" the woman said coldly.

"He will be taken to trial for delivering false information to the tribunal to protect traitors of the Republic. That is serious treason, Madame." The woman was silent and showed no emotion, and Chauvelin instantly grew furious. "Where are the people your husband is hiding?" No answer, and the agent trembled with rage. Breathing deeply in an attempt to calm himself, Chauvelin said through clenched teeth, "Lest you want to find yourself in a world of hurt, it would be best that you comply." No response, and the agent nearly lost it, his hands balled in to fists, the nails digging in to his palms until the skin broke and bled, and he managed to retain his cool. "Unfortunately for you, you are not in the position to be so arrogant. I will say this once. You tell me what I want willingly, or I will force it out of you, and I will make your daughter suffer as well."

"You are already going to kill us," the woman said coldly. "Why speak and condemn more?"

"To save yourself, you useless cur!" Chauvelin shouted, suddenly before the woman and towering above her, his hand cocked back as if to strike her, and the sudden but subtle fear in her eyes made Chauvelin regain his calm as he realized that he had the edge. "Where are they?"

"Austria," the woman said quietly, defiantly, and Chauvelin knew instantly she was lying.

"Pathetic woman. So help me, I will break you, and you will submit."

"Not to someone so much lower than I."

"We shall see." He quickly opened the door and barked, "Mercier, Coupeau, come." The two men walked in and stood at attention and the agent grinned evilly. "Coupeau, fetch me mademoiselle Suzanne de Tourney. Her parents have failed her." Coupeau blanched slightly, but bowed and left to retrieve the girl from her cell. The Marquise's cool suddenly broke, and Chauvelin grinned in delight at finally having a glimpse of his power over the woman.

"Please, my Suzanne knows nothing!"

"Well, is that not a shame…" Chauvelin brushed off the woman's frantic pleading and stood by the other soldier, watching in amusement as the woman fretted. "Mercier, I want you to deliver this woman to Fumir. I do not want her beaten, I want her tortured, do you understand?"

"Sir, is that really necessary?" Mercier asked quietly. "Fumir is sadistic…"

"Yes. Why do you think I assigned him to be my torture device? I want this woman to suffer. Tell him that he has my permission to do anything he wished to her, but he may not kill her, do you understand?"

"Yes, Chauvelin."

"Good man." The door swung open, and Coupeau led a trembling and frightened girl in to the office and with a cry, the girl flung herself at her mother, and the two women embraced, whispering hushed comforts to each other. Rolling his eyes at the pitiful display of sentimentality, Chauvelin ordered the soldiers to separate the women, and they were quickly torn away from each other, both crying for the other and muttering prayers of safety. "Mercier, I believe that Madame Marquise had an appointment, yes?"

Nodding, Mercier took the woman out of the room, and with a quick command to leave, Coupeau closed the door and left Chauvelin alone with a trembling and terrified Suzanne. Smiling sarcastically, his malicious yellow eyes never leaving the frightened girl, he dug through his pocket and withdrew a key and locked the door; there was nothing the girl could possibly do to him, so guard at attention was pointless. He may as well be in a room with a child.

"I know nothing of what you want, Chauvelin!" Suzanne cried in a desperate, pleading voice, backing away from the man as he slowly began to circle her. "Please, let me be…I have done nothing…"

"Ah, but my dear," Chauvelin purred, eyeing the girl with malicious glee at the power dynamic that he possessed, "your parents are both guilty of treason, and I have given them both a chance to save you. Neither would submit, so you must suffer. Perhaps they will learn from that."

"Let me go and I will talk to them! What is it you want?" Suzanne cried, sobbing softly as she saw those pale eyes practically glowing with cruelty and amusement, but no mercy or compassion. "I will find out what you want, just do not harm us!"

"It is a little late for that, Suzanne," Chauvelin said softly, stopping his predatory circling and leaning against the wall, content to watch the girl fret and work herself up in to a state. "I have already promised your parents that I would destroy the lot of you if I did not get what I want. What would become of my reputation if I granted you another chance? People would walk all over me, and what would I do then? No, I must be brutal, and your family is not exempt."

"You're a monster!" the frightened girl cried, clutching her sides and tears running swiftly down her face. "I could never understand what Marguerite saw in you, you fiend!"

"Ah, little Suzanne, since you brought the subject up…" Within seconds, Chauvelin was looming over the little thing, the petrified girl with nowhere to go and those demonic yellow eyes inches from her own. "Perhaps, as her best friend, you could enlighten me as to the reasoning that she gave to abandon her country and leave me for a pompous Brit."

"She got smart!" Suzanne said defiantly. "She opened her eyes and saw you for the demon that you are! Percy is a good man and she loves him."

Chauvelin scoffed, pulled away slightly. "What, that idiot? She would abandon her country for a man who cares more for the tailor that for her? I think not, Marguerite is too smart for that. She must have married him for his money."

"That's a lie!" Suzanne cried, her defence of her friend granting her courage that she would not normally have in the presence of this intimidating man. "She and Percy have something that a heartless creature like you could never understand!"

Suzanne instantly grew quiet as the man's eyes narrowed and he drew closer, the very air around him seeming to quiver with rage and violence. "I do not think you are quite as afraid of me as I would like you to be, my Suzanne." In one fluid motion, the agent grabbed the girl's slender wrists and pinned them above her head and gazed in to her wide, frightened eyes, passion burning beneath the ice that covered his features. She was terrified, shaking in fear, completely helpless, in his absolute power, and the feeling was intoxicating, arousing even, and Chauvelin couldn't help but shiver in delight.

Suzanne was so frightened she could not move, could hardly breathe, could not find her voice, and the fear continued to grow. Whimpering slightly, she managed to gasp, "Chauvelin, I am terrified of you. What more could you want?"

Chauvelin's breathing was fast and shallow, his entire being filled with the thrill of absolute power over another being. Leaning in close to the girl, his pale yellow eyes filled with lust, he smoothly whispered, "I want, Suzanne, for you to be so terrified of me, the worst possible torture for you is being in the same room as me. I want you to weep when you set your eyes on me, I want you to tremble at my very mention, and I want you to cower in fear when you are alone at night with the thought of maybe seeing me again."

His pale eyes ran over the girl and a vicious grin spread across his face as the girl began to struggle, tears swiftly running down her lovely cheeks and those wide, beautiful eyes filled with a terror he had never seen before. His heart beating much faster as the lust for power took him over, he leaned in and roughly claimed her lips, his hands tightening like a vice around her wrists as she struggled, only pressing closer as he felt a pained scream rise in her throat.

The agent pulled away abruptly and looked in amusement and desire at the flushed, shocked face of the young de Tourney. "You're beautiful, Suzanne…"

"Chauvelin, let me go!" the girl cried, trembling under the strange gaze of the man, sobs choking her voice. "Please…I'll do anything you ask, just let me go…"

"Oh no, I do not think so," Chauvelin purred, shaking his head and laying his forearm against her wrists so that he had one free hand. "You clearly do not understand what I want. I want revenge, my dear, on Marguerite. What better way to do that then destroying her best friend?" The girl suddenly began sobbing loudly, struggling to get away and begging for him to be merciful, and the sight and sound of it drove Chauvelin mad. He closed his eyes, trembling in pleasure at each feeble attempt at escape, and each cry for release and slowly felt his blood course faster as the power over the young woman aroused him. Slowly opening his eyes, he caressed the tearstained cheek and the girl wept harder, and with that, desire overwhelmed him.

Suzanne finally found her voice as Chauvelin pressed hard against her body, screaming in desolation as she realized what was to happen to her as she felt the agent's arousal pressing in to her stomach. She struggled desperately against the man, but the other was far stronger than she and she could hardly move. She cried out for the man to stop, pleaded, begged as his hand ran over her body, roughly grabbing her breasts, hips and legs, but each scream for mercy only seemed to encourage the him as he groaned in pleasure and sped up his efforts, pulling her skirts up and holding them between their bodies.

Leaning his forehead against hers, he quietly said, "I am going to ravage you, Suzanne. I am never going to have Marguerite again, and you are the closest thing to her that I can have. You would never give yourself willingly, so I am going to take you by force."

"_Chauvelin_, _no!_" The girl struggled, screamed at the top of her lungs as the man laid his head against her chest and lowered himself a bit, his free hand unbuttoning his pants as he forced himself between her legs. Suzanne cried harder than she ever had in her entire life and suddenly screamed in pain as Chauvelin brutally entered her, thrusting relentlessly and moaning in pleasure at every sob that wracked the lovely young body. The girl's screams escalated as the agent sped up the pace until his entire body tensed and shook in climax, groaning in ecstasy as the woman's body trembled in pain and shook with sobs.

He laid his head against her chest, his body pressed against hers and he breathed deeply as he tried to calm his racing heart and slow the panting to normal breath. When he felt the flush fade from his face, he slightly readjusted and pulled away from the sobbing woman and turned away without a word and put himself in a decent state of being. Suzanne leaned against the wall for a moment before she slid to the ground, clutching her sides and weeping in pain and shame; her first time, and she was taken in a prison, against a wall by a man she despised. She felt like a whore.

Chauvelin opened the door and called for his soldiers and Coupeau came running. Pointing to the pitiful, writhing creature, he quietly said, "Take that back to her cell." The man nodded and slowly walked toward the girl, but Chauvelin quickly stopped him and made him wait out in the hall. When the door had closed, he carefully approached the girl and knelt before her, put his hand under her chin and gently turned her face up so she looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry…" he said quietly, meaning it with his entire soul and suddenly feeling the damage that he had caused this girl keenly.

"I hate you…"

He looked into her eyes with a sympathy that was unknown to him, and light tears gathered at the corner of his eyes and leaned in and placed a soft, tender, nearly chaste kiss on the trembling lips, but pulled away as she tensed and shivered. Bowing his head in shame, he stood up and retrieved Coupeau. "Fetch the girl a doctor, Coupeau," he said quietly, fighting tears. "And make sure she is well cared for, will you? Feed her, make sure she is comfortable, give her anything she needs, do you understand?" Coupeau nodded and gently helped the girl up, both Chauvelin and Suzanne avoiding the other's gaze as she passed.

The door closed behind them, and Chauvelin sat at his desk, and placed his face in his hands and softly cried for the damage and pain that he had caused the innocent young Suzanne de Tourney.


	3. The Death of Virtue: Coupeau

**The Death of Virtue **

**Characters: Coupeau, Mercier, Chauvelin**

**Rating: M**

**Warnings: Extreme and graphic violence, character death**

**A.N: Mercier and Coupeau are two characters from the musical that are named, but never really given anything else but, so I created personalities for them and called them my own. So I made these guys close, childhood friends of Chauvelin's. So naturally, when the committee falls at Thermador and Chauvelin is executed, it can't bode well for Mercier and Coupeau. And this is what I imagined would happen to them, specifically Coupeau. As mentioned, this thing is extremely violent, and if you don't like the idea of graphic and rather horrific deaths, don't read this.**

He had lost it all. Everything that he had ever cared for, everything he had to live for was, at that very moment, scattered about as the blood of those brave and noble men soaked into the ground. He didn't move, made not a sound. Even if he could, he wouldn't have stirred from his hiding place. He had been specifically told not to, and if there was one thing that Coupeau was good at, it was following orders. The fact that the men that had given him those orders to lie still, make not a sound, and not come out until one of them had come to fetch him were dead made no difference at all. He'd hate to disappoint.

Even if they were dead.

Especially because they were dead.

But still…he couldn't stay there forever. He'd surely be caught and killed. Not that it mattered, but after seeing what they had done to his friends, the prospect was not all that appealing.

It had been late the evening before when the soldiers that used to serve him stormed into Citizen Chauvelin's office and arrested him for treason against the Republic. The agent put up a rather good fight, in Coupeau's opinion, but in the end, Chauvelin had managed to only thrust the little soldier's hand into Mercier's and ordered him to obey the every command of the larger man. And then he was taken away. Or so he assumed, he didn't actually see Chauvelin hauled away to the prison. Mercier had pulled him away rather quickly, and the two of them had managed to find a place to hide until things got a bit calmer.

Against his better judgment, Mercier had dragged the smaller man to the prison late that night, and as they were so apt at doing, the two men managed to sneak inside and with a bit of searching, they managed to find the cell in which Chauvelin was being kept; right next to the cell of that elusive Pimpernel that Chauvelin had managed to capture the day just before.

"I don't understand it…" Chauvelin had said to the men quietly, gently nursing the large, deep wounds that the guard had inflicted upon him. "I had done it all. My loyalties had never wavered. I even managed to successfully capture France's greatest enemy. And tomorrow, I go to the Guillotine with Robespierre and the Pimpernel. What has happened to our country, boys?"

Of course, there would be no escape for Chauvelin. He was too heavily guarded, and the few of the League that had managed to evade capture had no way into France. That day was one of glory for the traitorous bastards that had killed France. The day started with the execution of the Incorruptible, the Archangel of the Revolution and the Terrorist and the Scarlet Pimpernel and the League were scheduled to meet La Guillotine that afternoon.

So with a heavy heart and grim determination, Mercier pulled Coupeau along to witness the execution of the man that they loved more than their own lives with the intent of taking the body out of this city gone insane. He had been as dignified and proud as anyone could be, and with head held high, Armand Chauvelin had mounted the scaffold and the city seemed to fall silent and within only a few moments, there was the grating of metal and the sickening thud as the blade fell.

Coupeau didn't cry until that very moment as he pulled himself from his hiding place and crawled along the ground to the body of his leader that lay there on the grass just outside of Paris. Sobs wracking his body, Coupeau slowly reached out with a trembling hand and as gently and as carefully as he could, pulled the dismembered head toward him and tenderly placed it by the body of the man that was his friend and confident for as long as he could remember.

"I'm so sorry, Chauvelin…" Whimpering slightly and feverishly stroking the deceased agent's face and hair, he choked for breath and lay down next to the body, hardly noticing as blood quickly soaked through the man's uniform. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, and I'm sorry that I was too weak to do anything to help Mercier…Chauvelin…I'm sorry…"

He could do nothing as he lay their but helplessly clutch the agent's head to his chest as he finally dissolved into agonized cries of pain for the loss of his friends and the death of his own soul because of it. That morning had unleashed Hell in Coupeau's world, and there was nothing the small man could do to combat it. He was a dead man, and he knew it. What's more, he didn't care.

It wasn't even noon before Coupeau had nothing left in him at all. And no matter how hard he tried to, no more tears would fall for his passed compatriots. With the greatest of efforts, he forced himself to let go of Chauvelin and lethargically pushed himself to his feet.

Mercier had pulled Coupeau away as soon as they had heard the blade fall, and with speed fueled by honor, the bigger pulled the smaller through the streets of Paris to recover the body of Chauvelin. The two men followed the cart bearing the bodies to the gates of the city where it had to stop to get the authorization to pass through, and as soon as the cart came to a halt, Mercier and Coupeau began rummaging for Chauvelin, and within moments, the bigger man had the former agent slung over his shoulder, the head tucked in the crook of his arm and the smaller, quivering man hiding behind him and clutching at Mercier's uniform. They stayed concealed among the coffins of the other fallen until the cart had passed through the gates, and, sure that the coast was clear, the hopped off the cart and took off running away from the cart and away from bloody Paris.

Their flight did not go unnoticed for long, and within minutes of their escape, a small garrison of soldiers was after them. Of course, the runaway soldiers did not notice that they were being followed, only that their leader was dead, and without him, they were but lost children with no direction. They finally stopped in an open field, a few trees and bushes scattered about if the need to hide came up, but neither man really thought that they could move after Mercier had laid Chauvelin's body on the ground.

It was the first time that Coupeau had ever seen Mercier cry. It wasn't hard, and he wouldn't have even noticed had he not been so intently looking to the man for guidance, and there it was. For just a moment, Coupeau had the vision of watching the world fall from the goliath's eyes, and then as if it was never even there, those blue eyes turned to ice.

"Coupeau, hide. Now, go. And don't you dare move or make a sound until I come to get you, do you understand?"

Coupeau dared not hesitate. The man was deadly when he spoke that way, and the little man ran and quickly concealed himself within some underbrush. Those would be the last words that Mercier would ever say to him. No sooner had Coupeau hid did the tall, gallant soldier's knees buckle as he was struck between the ribs with a bullet and in moments soldiers surrounded him.

The man didn't even have a chance to fight back, and while he was recovering from the shot, he was unceremoniously dragged to the nearest tree, his hands tied tightly around the truck, giving his now bare chest no chance of protection.

True to his orders, Coupeau didn't move, didn't make a sound, even as close by he watched his friend be mercilessly beaten. Not once did the honorable Mercier scream, cry or show any signs of pain, and gasped for only a moment when one soldier put his dagger to the hilt inside the defenseless man and quickly drew it across his body as the man watched helplessly as his innards were rather forcefully removed from his body.

The soldiers didn't stay long after that. After briefly searching for the other man with no luck, they left jeering at the quickly dying man fixed to that tree, and long after their cheers had died down, Coupeau had remained hidden and quite as his friend had commanded, some part of him hoping that the pale man covered in blood would somehow regenerate and come get him. He wasn't supposed to leave until then…

But here he was now, slender arm hooked around the still man's neck, his head resting on the man's bloody chest as he gasped for breath, tried to weep for this man that he loved so well. "Forgive me for leaving, Mercier," the little man choked, trembling uncontrollably, "but there is something that I need to do…"

With the greatest reluctance, he pushed himself away from him and with as much care as he was able, untied the man and laid him next to the agent, the two bodies terribly defiled in their own right. Kneeling beside the two and managing to weep again, Coupeau laid trembling hands upon the chests of the men he grew up with. "I will never forget you."

With only one glance back at the bloody field, Coupeau turned for Paris.

* * *

The door had flung open with a resounding slam and no sooner had Percy and his three League members looked toward the source of the noise did Elton find a small, haggard and trembling man in his arms. "Take me back to England with you, Elton."

"Coupeau, what are you-"

"Please don't ask me anything, love!" the man cried, burring his head into the Englishman's chest. "You're scheduled for execution in an hour, and I need to get you guys out of here."

"Do you have a plan, you?" Tony asked, pushing himself off the wall and was instantly disappointed by the vigorous shaking of the young Frenchman's head.

"No matter, my boy, we'll improvise," Percy said firmly, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"So what do we do?" Andrew asked softly, quietly closing the door. Percy merely grinned and motioned for them to come closer.

* * *

It was fifteen minutes later that the Pimpernel, the three League members and the quivering Coupeau were on a cart heading toward Calais. It was sixteen minutes later that soldiers got word of the late Agent Chauvelin's renegade right hand man escaping Paris. And somehow, Coupeau knew damn well that he was about to die, even though at that very moment, he was in the safe and comforting embrace of his lover. Shivering slightly, he quietly choked, "I love you, Elton."

"And I you." Pulling the man closer and gently petting his hair, the lord whispered, "Just think, we'll be in England together forever, just as we always wanted."

"Promise me you'll be happy, Elton."

"As long as you're with me."

Shifting uncomfortably, he gently pulled away and planted a soft kiss on the other man's lips. "I'll always be with you." Scooting away from Elton, Coupeau crawled over to Percy and as quietly as he could, whispered, "Sir Pimpernel, the army of France knows I'm alive, and they are out to kill me as they did my friends. I don't know if they know you're gone yet, but please, if they come for me, don't stop. They know who you are, and five pointless deaths is much more unnecessary than one."

Flabbergasted, Percy managed to gape, "You want me to leave you if you're in trouble? Gad, man, you are out of your head!"

"Please!" Coupeau cried, clutching the man's collar. "Go home to your wife! Don't let these men die, and don't make pretty Marguerite go through what I am going through right now! Please…"

Before Percy had a chance to respond, the soldiers searching for the small auburn haired friend of Chauvelin stopped the cart and began to search the cart all too close to the League for anyone's comfort. Sad, tearful green eyes met pleading blue ones for just a moment before Coupeau swiftly jumped the rail of the cart and took off running from the guard of the fallen Republic.

To his momentary delight, every soldier came rushing after him and the cart slowly began to drive away and as soon as he turned around and took off running again, Coupeau was viciously seized by the collar and thrown backwards, the wind being forcefully knocked from his body. The diminutive soldier weakly staggered to his feet and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of a horrified and screaming Elton being held back by a shocked and rather pale Percy. Trembling, he smiled slightly and put his hand up in the air as a final farewell to the man he loved and the League that would now get home before he felt the cold sting of lead in his back, and, gasping for breath and in mild shock, he fell to his knees.

Coupeau watched the cart grow more distant and at that moment knew that he had done the right thing. He wouldn't have survived the day, and were he to try to change his fate, he may have put his Elton and the Pimpernel at risk, and he couldn't do that, not when his two best friends had died so bravely and nobly that day.

His head was suddenly pulled backward and a knee was thrust into his back to keep him on his knees while he looked straight up into the malicious brown eyes of the man that was to be his executioner. The cold, sharp steel of a sword was carefully positioned at the soft juncture of his neck just above the collarbone, and the little man felt a sudden streak of defiance. Staring the man straight in the eyes, Coupeau growled, "Vive la Republique."

It took much longer than he ever imagined it could. He felt each inch of the blade slide into his body and under the sternum. For just a moment, he could feel a brief scratching in stomach before the blade thrust out of his abdomen, the tip burying in the ground in front of him. And then the soldiers left, leaving the young Coupeau there, held on his knees by the weapon that impaled him.

He felt like he was drowning.

God it was awful.

He couldn't breathe, and his vision very quickly began to tunnel. He had done the best he could, he always had. Just as Chauvelin and Mercier did, and there couldn't be any wrong in that. None at all. But, he supposed, it must all be futile if they all came to this. He didn't believe that any of them deserved such horrid deaths. Closing his eyes, he silently hoped for Elton's happiness long lives for the Blakeneys, and the quick recovery for France. Heaven knew that she needed it.

His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, and he could have sworn he saw Chauvelin and Mercier standing there, bathed in light and good as new.

"I'm coming, boys."


End file.
